


it's reaching fire

by ohmaggies



Category: The Good Cop (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst, Idiots in Love, Requited Love, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings, kinda a soulmate au but kinda not
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-09
Updated: 2019-01-09
Packaged: 2019-10-06 17:34:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17349575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohmaggies/pseuds/ohmaggies
Summary: He glances over at her, with his breath caught in his throat and his face likely akin to a deer stuck in headlights. She looks, and she knows. He knows she knows, from the way her posture and frame are suddenly rigid, as though she's forgotten what to do with herself. She knows, and TJ almost wishes he'd gone home early today, the way he told himself he would. But, he didn't, because Cora was staying and he never leaves first when she's still here. He stays and he loves her, and she must know. There's no possible way she wouldn't.Instead, she's quiet, until she gains some courage and says, “Nice watch. Is it new?”“Few months,” TJ replies, words tight.





	it's reaching fire

**Author's Note:**

> i miss them

He didn't have the mark before he met Cora, only after an afternoon spent in his office, hands in his pocket and a photo of his father glaring mockingly at him. And, _her_ , sitting at her desk with a ring on her left hand that someone other than him had given her. And, a mark, cursing his heart-- on the same arm she tends to wear a ring that isn't the one given to her by her fiance; a thin, silver band on her index finger. He noticed it a few weeks after they'd met, and had pessimistically assumed it was because she had a mark already, that somewhere she had someone who she loved enough to bear this mark for.

TJ pulls his sleeve back down his wrist, ignoring the red tally demanding attention. It has to be Cora, it has to be, because there's no one else. He knew he hadn't loved the woman from the ski lodge, the absence of a mark a clear sign that he didn't. At the time, he'd put it down to not having known her that long, a couple days at most, but he's known Cora for longer than he originally thought he would've and it being for her makes _sense_. Maybe it was eventual, the falling for her, the loving her. How could anyone possibly spend time with her and not fall in love even the slightest?

He turns to glance at her, at the way the fluorescent lights shine down on her as the sun outside goes down. Her left hand is empty, a reminder of a man that used her and gave her a mark that immediately turned black the moment she realised his true intentions. People had wanted to see it, TJ remembers, when they asked how she could be sure he was the one and she'd point at her wrist with a look only she can make endearing, and TJ would ignore any and all bitter comments he thought.

 _This guy? Really? A mark for a man who says 'be cool’? For a man even_ I _don't like?_

He was right, all along. Not that it matters. He and Cora had an argument-- if it could even be called that-- in front of everyone and his wrist itched the entire time, as if the universe was trying to mock him for being in love with her. They both almost died that day, and she fell asleep in his house that night, and his dad didn't say anything when TJ rolled up his sleeves to tidy up and there was an all too obvious mark there. His dad has to know, and he probably figured it out before TJ himself did.

Burl, who left a little under an hour ago, doesn't know, or Ryan, who's currently fidgeting at his desk as the clock moves slow, or Cora. She finishes soon, too, but she's not in as much of a hurry as the other detectives and officers scattered throughout the station. If a case bothers her, she'll stay all night thinking it over; other nights, she stays because TJ does, and because she'll offer him a drink and he'll shake his head, and she'll smile like it's the funniest thing in the world.

He loves her.

The clock ticks over, and a few people scatter out the door to go home, not looking back once on their way to the elevator. Ryan quietly packs his things to leave, giving TJ a cautious glance that means ‘goodbye’, but also 'please don't ask me to stay, man, I'm so tired.’ TJ, hands in his pockets, knowing he'll be here for some time later, smiles a farewell. There's a tired thanks buried in Ryan's features before he walks clumsily towards the door, an exhausted wave offered to Cora.

It's just them, the scatter of weak snow beginning outside the window, and the telltale mark on TJ's wrist that makes everything harder than it needs to. Eventually, Tony Sr. will call or text, and TJ will say goodbye to the emptiness here to go home, where he can shower the smell of detective work from his skin and his clothes and his hair.

It's a routine he's had for years, the rising early and staying late. His mum hated it, said he exhausted himself but his father had done the same when he could qualify as a semi respectable cop. She's not here to scold him for it anymore, hasn't been for a long time, but he'll hear her voice sometimes, see the mark on her wrist she had for Tony Sr., and it's overwhelming how much he misses it.

In the safety of his office, Brooklyn's winter weather raging gently outside, he smiles to himself.

His parents made soulmates look easy in ways TJ couldn't comprehend as a kid but can now. They fell in love, they had him, she died, and now his dad wears a watch on the same wrist where his mark has turned dark on his skin. He's showed TJ, only once, and it was accompanied by a look that said more than words ever could; Connie was killed, and Tony Sr. woke up that morning in a prison cell with his mark burning and dark on his wrist.

Five years. Five whole years.

TJ thinks too much about how close he was to that, to being too late to call his dad and to Cora thrown over the balcony. Closer than TJ ever wants to be to losing her again, even when she got drunk a few days later, with the wound of what happened still fresh, and how he absentmindedly reached to scratch at his mark as she said, “I had a mark for him, Caruso-- and I thought his was for me. I thought he loved me. And the whole time, it was for the _genealogist_.”

The wound fresh, for him and for her.

“Hey, you staying late tonight?”

Cora, hair messy but somehow perfect and tucked to one side over her shoulder as she stands in the doorway, phone visible in the pocket of her jacket. The sleeves of which are long, hiding all her old, burnt out marks, and protecting her arms from the bite of the winter wind whistling through a window Ryan accidentally broke last week, enough so that no one could get it to shut completely.

TJ glances up in greeting and surprise, eyebrows raised naively as a smile quirks at one corner of her mouth.

“It's snowing, don't stay too late. Might get stuck in here.”

“The Great Brooklyn Blizzard of 2018,” he offers, and her smile widens fondly.

“So he does have a sense of humour, nice to see it's still in tact.” She leans against the doorframe, ruffling her hair slightly. The lights dim in his office make the purpling under her eyes painfully obvious, and TJ almost wants to tell her to go home to sleep before he remembers that he technically can't. She should be at home, when it's cold and dark like this, but she's not really one to listen to authority; he put that in the evaluation that she won't let him forget.

“I’m gonna head home,” she continues, when the only reply to her quip that he offered was a small huff of forced laughter. “Get some sleep, Caruso.”

“I'll see you tomorrow, detective Vasquez,” he replies, lips in a straight line with the slightest curve. It's polite, to smile, when what he really wants to do is ask her to stay despite knowing she's likely more than exhausted after the past few weeks. The homicide department in winter gets sickly busy, and TJ's been woken up almost every day the past fortnight to be asked to come in, and Cora's there each time waiting. They're both tired, permanently.

“‘Detective Vasquez,’ very formal,” she observes, amusement bright on her face.

“Well, we're at work and I'm your superior, Cora,” he tries, and fails. Sometimes he wonders if he can convince his mark to go away by pretending he doesn't love her, because it's an infraction to fall for a detective who works under him- _for_ him. Cora works for him. Kind of. With the distraction of her presence, he busies himself with checking his watch, tugging his sleeve further up his arm to get a better look.

He sees his mark and time halts to a stop, but his head is on right enough that he manages to pull his sleeve back to his wrist. Like it's nothing. Like he didn't just possibly expose it to Cora, who's oddly quiet in the doorway, and how she only stayed twenty minutes past her shift this time. Usually, she sticks around for hours, and TJ watches her and falls even harder, and she's completely oblivious to it all. Completely. He thinks. In the same way he hopes she's oblivious to the mark he accidentally revealed; she's a good detective and, right now, he's an idiot.

He glances over at her, with his breath caught in his throat and his face likely akin to a deer stuck in headlights. She looks, and she _knows_. He knows she knows, from the way her posture and frame are suddenly rigid, as though she's forgotten what to do with herself. She knows, and TJ almost wishes he'd gone home early today, the way he told himself he would. But, he didn't, because Cora was staying and he never leaves first when she's still here. He stays and he loves her, and she must know. There's no possible way she wouldn't.

Instead, she's quiet, until she gains some courage and says, “Nice watch. Is it new?”

“Few months,” TJ replies, words tight.

They're not talking about his watch, because they both know he's had it for over a year. And, despite the fact that she now knows about his mark, he tucked the secret of his love for her under his tongue three months ago so he'd never be able to say it. To tell her he has a mark for her. It's safe in his mouth, in his head and his heart. His skin, previously unmarked for many years, didn't get the memo about that-- it showed, it burned, and it's made it hard for him to meet Cora's eye.

He's worries that the moment he does, she'll read everything held in them. She's good at that, and he's good at keeping things to himself. He's done it his whole life, he can do it now. Or he _thinks_ he can do it now.

“I got a new watch, too, you know,” Cora says, tilting her head thoughtfully. “Kinda looks like yours.”

“Oh.” He swallows his anxieties and tries, “Since when?”

“Couple weeks.”

Outside the window to his left, snow pours to the ground as gentle as ever. It’s thick enough on the ground that he’ll have to shake it from his hair when he walks in it, though soft enough that it’ll remind him of memories he’s been trying to forget. A mark, red and clear and the implications horrifying despite how much time he’d had to become accustomed to it, and Cora by his side with matching rings on their wedding fingers. _Fake rings. Fake marriage. Fake smiles._

A mark he was all so careful to hide, even at times when he wasn’t sure he wanted to. Because he’d calculated the possibility of her returning his love and having a mark to match his, and it was unbearably unlikely. And he was the foolish boss in love with a detective he couldn’t have, no matter the circumstances or their closeness or the distance that had once been between them long gone. He was the idiot trying to piece himself together when not all the pieces were there, and admiring the realisation of his own heartbreak and unrequited crush the same way he’d often regard a crime scene.

Unsure of how it all started but looking at the clues and _knowing_ , the same way he knew his mark couldn’t be for anyone but Cora the moment he saw it.

“I didn’t know,” TJ says, a little breathless.

“It’s a watch,” she smiles. He’s a good enough detective to know she’s sad, and a good enough friend to know she won’t say she is. “Just a watch.”

“‘Just a watch,’” he repeats, trepidation ghosting his words. “That’s all it is to you?”

“ _He_ gave me a watch, and that’s all it was. A watch. And he didn’t love me and it’s still a watch. Give it whatever name you want, Caruso, but it’s a watch.”

 _‘He’_ being Warren. Being the man who almost took Cora away, and almost left TJ with a burnt out mark he’d have for the rest of his life, however long or short that may be. Warren, who gave Cora a mark, or a watch, or whatever they’re calling it. He gave her one, and TJ never will, and it stings despite how hard he tries to not let it.

“Do you have it?” he manages, gesturing weakly with the pen clasped in his right hand. “...The watch?”

“I got a new one.”

“Oh, well… that’s good, Cora. I’m happy for you. I’m -- I’m really happy for you.”

TJ loves her. He really, really loves her. Under his sleeve, on his arm, his mark burns, almost as if reminding him that it’s there. It’s there because he loves her and it’s because she doesn’t love him back that it frequently itches, making him acknowledge its existence with a pained sigh. It won’t go away until his love does so he’s trying to make peace with having it forever, the same way Cora seems to have made peace with her chances of leaving early as she hovers in his doorway.

She opens her mouth to speak at the same time he does. He speaks first.

“You should go home, get some rest. I expect I’ll see you early tomorrow,” he dismisses, looking back down at the paperwork sitting on his desk. He’s read through it a hundred times already, or it somewhat feels like he has; it’s easier to regard with fake interest than it is to look at her and try not to love her, at least. “Goodnight, Cora.”

“‘Night, Caruso,” Cora says, soft and unfinished. As if she had wanted to say something more.

She turns to leave then, and TJ lifts his head to watch her go, attention focused on the heaviness resting in her features, how the sleeve of her jacket has gently slipped enough for him to see the marks etched into her skin. Four dark and dead, and one so red and vibrant it’s hard to miss. He wonders, bitterly and regrettably, who it is for -- who she loves so much that her mark looks the way it does, the same way his father’s used to look for his mother and his mother’s used to look for his father.

Cora’s mark for Warren never looked like that.

“Cora?” he calls, right before she takes a step away from him. She looks back, eyebrows gently furrowed and hand moving self-consciously to fix her fallen sleeve.

“Nothing,” he clears his throat, offering a tight-lipped smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. He can’t read past the disappointment on her face to see what’s underneath, though he wishes he could. “Nothing, sorry. Goodnight.”

His mark itches then burns then itches, and he imagines hers must, too.

**Author's Note:**

>  ♡. Thanks for reading!


End file.
